


Friends and Lovers

by Brillador



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Massage, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2016, Sauna, Sex Toys, Smut, Spa Treatments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: My Rumbelle Secret Santa gift to worryinglyinnocent. Prompt: spa weekend, steamy sauna smut. Douglas and Belle Gold celebrate Belle’s birthday with a private spa day while Neal babysits the little ones. As they enjoy their romantic getaway, the couple reflects on when they confessed their feelings for each other during another spa weekend years ago.





	

 

“It’s not like we’re leaving town,” Belle pointed out as her husband handed Neal the landline phone number for the cabin.

Douglas Gold gave his wife an arched look that valiantly attempted to hide his unease. His voice pitched up to a shrillness that was equally playful and anxious. “There’s no harm in making sure we can be reached if anything comes up.”

“Yeeeah,” Neal drawled out. “I’m not going to be the one responsible for disturbing your romantic weekend if I can help it.”

“It’s not the whole weekend,” Douglas reminded him. “Just two days at the cabin.”

“Which is more than you did on your last anniversary. I’m amazed you’re trusting me for _two whole days_ with the kids.” Neal was holding back a full-blown lecture about how he was eighteen, for crying out loud. His father needed to accept that his nearly grown son could keep things under control. The twins could be a handful, and little Stephen’s crawl was getting faster by the day, but Neal was more than equipped after five years of helping his dad and stepmom raise his siblings.

“It’s not the location or the length of time,” Belle soothed. “It’s what you do while you’re there.”

“Which I want to neither interrupt nor hear about,” Neal declared.

Belle laughed, then hugged him and kissed his head. Ever since his last growth spurt, she had to stand on her toes to reach. “Thank you for doing this, sweetheart.”

Neal shrugged. “It’s nothing. You have a great extended birthday.”

As if to mock him for speaking too soon, a pair of voices hollered overhead. Father, mother and son shared a sigh.

“I’ll get them,” Neal said.

He nearly made it to the front hall before the twins came barreling down the stairs. Thea came first. “Mommy! Gideon isn’t sharing again!”

“Tattle tale!” Gideon shouted five steps behind her, closing in.

“That’s enough!” Neal had mastered projection, hitting that perfect decibel that didn’t cross over to shouting but could still stop the kids in their tracks. “Mommy and Daddy are about to leave. You want the last thing they see is you two fighting?”

Thea gasped and bolted to her parents. She grabbed her father’s good leg. “Daddy, can’t I come, too?”

“Not this time, sweetheart.” Douglas cringed at the thought of leaving his children when he’d spent barely half a day away from them all their lives. However, the prospect of a romantic getaway with his wife quelled some paternal concern and guilt. He knelt at his daughter’s level and pried her arms off so he could hug her. She squeezed him back. A fuzzy sensation filled Belle’s chest as she watched her husband hold their little girl. His hug was so gentle yet steady.

Not one to let his sister overshadow him, Gideon bounded over to Belle and hugged her. The twins loved both parents, but a little favoritism had cropped up. Belle made sure to give both Gideon and Thea heartfelt hugs and kisses. She’s already kissed Stephen before putting him down for his nap. Douglas took his turn kissing the kids before fetching his suitcase. Belle grabbed hers while Neal rounded up the twins.

“You guys gonna behave while we wave bye-bye to Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yes,” Thea and Gideon declared in grumbling chorus.

Even with their word, Neal kept them close, a hand on each twin’s shoulder. He led the shouts of “Bye-bye!” and “Have fun!” as their parents’ Cadillac pulled out of the driveway and zoomed down the street.

Although Storybrooke was by no means a large town, its winding roads and copious woods gave the Golds the sense that, after only ten minutes of driving, they were escaping to a secluded paradise. No worldly concerns could reach them here. No customers at the antiques pawnshop, no visitors at the library, no nosy friends, no screaming children. Soon enough the couple would return and take what joys abounded from these common occurrences, but for now, Mr. and Mrs. Gold were stealing away like eloping lovers.

Neal hadn’t been entirely wrong, Douglas admitted. That is, he hadn’t been wrong about the couple’s failure to embark on romantic holidays worthy of wedding anniversaries. The twins’ birthday was just a week after the Golds’ anniversary. Neither Douglas nor Belle had liked the idea of going anywhere when they needed to finish shopping for gifts or prepping for a party. They had considered a combined birthday-anniversary vacation somewhere like Disneyworld, but if they wanted any hope of private time during such a trip, they had to wait until the kids were older. Neal wouldn’t always be around to babysit. He had only a semester of high school left, then off to college. Opportunities for “grown-up time” would become fewer and farther between until the twins were in high school themselves.

“Trust me, it’s not as far away as it seems,” Douglas had told Belle when they talked during their last anniversary.

“A blessing and a curse,” Belle had said with a sigh.

That sigh and the accumulation of missed opportunities plucked a nerve in Douglas—the nerve that demanded he be a husband who could keep his wife happy. That’s not to say that their most recent anniversary celebration had been a wash. It had been simple, low-key. They had a late-night picnic at the beach by the light of a few kerosene lamps. They’d ordered their favorites from Granny’s, per Belle’s suggestion, and together dined on messy burgers that led to creative clean up measures that, in the end, left them messy in a different way. Nothing fancy in the sex department, especially once the presence of sand in their clothes became impossible to ignore. Still, they’d spent just as much time making love as cuddling on the picnic blanket. When they chatted about the future in that pose, not once did Belle remark on the limited scope of their celebrations with disappointment. He could feel bone-deep happiness in every inch of her pressed against him. Yet her words came back to him days, weeks and months later, often in quiet settings when no one was around to distract him. Maybe Belle loved those undramatic evenings together. Maybe she didn’t need fireworks or a trip to the Bahamas. But it would’ve been nice if she could spend special time with her husband beyond a single evening on the beach or in their bedroom. She deserved something less pedestrian. Something even better than the risqué spots where they used to rendezvous in their dating days, like the back of the pawnshop or the elevator in the library.

For a hot moment, Gold had wondered if he could plan Belle’s birthday surprise around those steamy memories. Too chancy, he decided. Not so much if someone like Regina or the Nolans walked in (that would’ve been worth it), but what if Neal stopped by? The boy would leave for college right then and never come back.

No, Douglas had gone further back in time. He’d returned to their first kiss. The moment they’d changed from friends who spent their lunchbreaks sharing stories and lame jokes to lovers who could share those things and more besides.

From there, Douglas had prepared everything. All Belle knew was that he was treating her to a two-day surprise at the cabin. As they passed through what was beginning to feel like an endless wood, Belle asked, “Do I get any hints about my surprise?”

Douglas’s lips curled in a cheeky grin. “You’re too clever for me to drop hints. You’d guess on the first try.”

She hummed with her own smile. “I suppose you’re right. But I did pick one of the wiliest people I’ve ever known as my husband.”

“I hope my reputation holds up.”

A few minutes later, after yet another bend in the forest road, the cabin slid into view. Outwardly, it was an unassuming log house, bordering on rustic. The façade disguised the relatively modern conveniences inside, like the small but elegant marble-laid bathroom and well-heated boudoir with the king-sized bed. Douglas made sure a cleaner came by once a week for upkeep. He’d spent extra time getting it ready for this weekend.

Belle had been to the cabin a few times for dates, later for picnics with the kids. It was always just the Golds, just their car. That’s why the sight of a van sitting in the driveway made her sit up and tilt her head. “All right. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Trust me,” Douglas said, noticing the perturbance in Belle’s tone, “you’ll enjoy it.”

She aimed a skeptical look at him. “You got me a van for my birthday?”

“No—I prefer to give gifts that can fit inside the house.” Douglas winked.

The Cadillac rolled up next to the van. On the van’s side, swirling pink script read _Georgette’s On-the-Go Salon & Spa_. As soon as she could decipher the florid font, Belle gasped and looked at Douglas. Despite her slack mouth, the corners turned up. “You didn’t!”

“Come on,” Douglas said as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Your glorious day of pampering awaits.”

Belle beamed, overjoyed by the gesture, but a confused frown suddenly marred her delighted expression. “Wait. Am I the only one getting the spa treatment?”

Douglas paused in his seat, confused himself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are _you_ going to be doing?”

Mischievous glee returned in a smile that made Belle shiver. “Don’t worry. I have my own part to play.”

Whereas they normally just used the keys to unlock the door, Douglas knocked and waited for a reply. An anticipatory shudder ran through Belle. The door opened with swift gusto. A middle-aged woman with blue eyeshadow and fluffy gray hair coifed and tied back by a pink bow stood before them.

“ _There_ you are, at last!”

A hand sporting shiny fingernails beckoned them inside. Georgette had the nails and fur-lined clothing of someone who was used to pampering herself rather than others. Nevertheless, her enthusiasm as she showed the Golds into the cabin rang true. Belle could even see pride as Georgette conducted a quick tour of the transformed space—a transformation deserving of awe. The den in the front room had become a salon. Most of the original furniture had been removed or pushed to the walls. A massage chair, positioned close to an outlet, came with a low foot tub. A small table stood across the room; it had infrared lights and heater fans for both hands and feet. Near the fireplace, which had a cozy blaze going, Georgette had set up a massage table topped with towels.

“My professional recommendation is to start with the massage,” Georgette declared, “then use the sauna and make your glowing return for your mani and pedi. Oh! That reminds me, I have to get my kits out of the van.”

Douglas cleared his throat. “Actually, I think my wife would like to finish the day with the sauna. She might want to wait on the mani and pedi until tomorrow.”

Belle regarded her husband, again confused about his intent. But as his gaze lingered on her and a sparkle she knew intimately lit up his eyes, understanding sparked in her own.

“I think I see your point,” Georgette said, a sage smirk creeping in. “Very well—if the lady wishes it. It’s _her_ spa day, after all.”

“That will be fine,” Belle said once she pulled her attention off Douglas and faced Georgette with only a faint flush in her cheeks.

Georgette nodded and headed out the cabin. She did mutter a comment that Belle barely caught: “I guess the fun doesn’t always stop with marriage.”

As soon as the door closed behind Georgette, Belle turned to Douglas. He’d heard her, too. Together they muffled their laughter.

“So, a spa day plus some _extra_ in the sauna? I was honestly not expecting you to go to such expense, Douglas.”

Her husband cupped her shoulders. “Don’t think about the expense. You deserve this.”

Belle stepped into his embrace so she could lock her hands around his waist. “You still haven’t said what you’ll be doing during—well, while I’m getting my massage.”

“That’s partly up to you. I asked Georgette if it would be permissible for me to assist with your massage.”

Another flash of excitement filled Belle’s expression, then dampened as she realized what he meant. “I think I’d rather get my entire massage from you.”

“I’m flattered, but I’m not a professional. Georgette will ensure you don’t suffer from any clumsy mishandling. She did give me a few pointers while I was setting this up. So, would you like one professional pair of hands tending to you, or one professional pair and one eager but amateur pair?”

“I just don’t want things to get . . . awkward for Georgette.”

Douglas chuckled. “I’ll do my best to behave.”

“I’m worried _I’m_ the one who will have trouble behaving.”

With another gentle laugh, Douglas pulled her against him and whispered, “Wait until the sauna.”

“All right.” Belle stepped back to look up at him. “Georgette can give me the professional treatment.” She pulled on his tie, not freeing it from its knot but loosening it enough that she could’ve unbutton the top of his shirt if she chose. “Then, in the sauna, you can give me the _personal_ treatment.”

“As my lady commands.”

The breathy, coquettish timbre of his voice sent tingles to those places Belle was looking forward to her husband tending to. The sensation made her tug his tie again and drag his head down the entire six inches between their mouths. Their kiss had the same warmth and taste of so many kisses before it, which she relished like her favorite wine, but the setting triggered a memory of one specific kiss. The salon, the sauna . . . had he wanted her to remember that event while being here? Maybe he just wanted her to know that _he_ remembered. Either way, nostalgia assailed her in an emotional gust.

Releasing his tie, she slid her hands behind his neck. Her mouth opened. His tongue accepted the invitation, gliding in to meet hers. She knew the texture and taste as well as every edge and line of Douglas’ face. Remembering it as it was the first time imbued the kiss with the same surprising heat of that first time. She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, buried her fingers in his hair, and sealed her lips against his as she drank in his flavor. Husband and friend. Old love, renewed passion.

Even the click of the front door, making both Belle and Douglas break apart in a panic, drove home the déjà vu. Belle’s rosy face wasn’t entirely due to embarrassment.

Georgette was holding two big pink kits, so the challenge of getting the door open spared her from seeing the couple’s kiss—that’s what the Golds hoped. Even so, one look at their faces summoned a saucy smile from Georgette. “Don’t feel you have to stop on my account.”

Belle quickly assured her that she wanted to start the massage. Douglas backed her up while adding that he was going to fetch the bags from the car. Belle offered to help, but Douglas kissed her cheek and insisted he had the task in hand. Their bags were light, after all.

Well, it might’ve been her extended birthday, but Belle had reservations about him doing all the unloading. Georgette encouraged Belle to put all that “stressful business” aside—this was _her_ pampering day! Belle finally yielded. She was provided a towel and a bathrobe, along with instructions to change in the bedroom down the corridor.

Belle hardly took any time undressing and wrapping the towel around herself, but she made time to fold her clothes and lay them on the king-sized bed. The bed was already covered in silky sheets and a fluffy comforter, and the room smelled of pine and roses. She breathed in the scents and wondered if she should request to have the massage in here under Douglas’ untrained but sensual hands. She didn’t _need_ a professional treatment. But neither she did she want to waste the gesture and the opportunity. With any luck, and with some hope from Georgette’s earlier expression, the masseuse would understand if Belle wanted to keep the massage short to maximize what time she and Douglas had to themselves.

After six years, she doubted there was much she or her husband could do to make the other blush. It wasn’t a full-fledged blush that ran down her chest as she opened the door and stopped short of walking into Douglas, who was wheeling in her suitcase. Understandable surprise offset her heartbeat, but Douglas’ gaze landing on the towel, tucked so snugly around her body, heated her blood and skin. Belle bit her lip at a tempting thought: some roleplay in which she and Douglas were strangers meeting by chance at a spa, and he’d just accidentally entered her room thinking it was his, catching her half-naked while she was on her way to a massage.

The best and most baffling part, Douglas was caught up in honest awe and desire, as if he hadn’t seen her naked countless times. Surely the towel wasn’t titillating—just soft, thick, fuzzy fabric. It didn’t even show off her cleavage. It was hardly the slinky negligee or satin panties she’d packed. Yet Douglas wore that astounded, bewitched, dopey stare that she adored before he blinked it away and stepped into the room.

“Is my towel really that sexy?” Belle couldn’t resist asking.

Her teasing skepticism was answered by a coy smile while he parked her suitcase against the left wall next to her usual side of the bed. “It’s the wearer who brings out the towel’s appeal.”

Even as she rolled her eyes, Belle wanted to kiss him. And once she kissed him, there’d be little chance of getting her massage, or doing anything spa-related. So, she settled for running a hand down his arm and saying, “Any chance I’ll see you in a towel soon?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He took her hand as it swept over his own. His thumb drew circles on the soft spot next to her thumb. Belle sighed. Her shoulders fell.

“But you’ll need to wait until after the massage,” he added.

She injected her groan with melodrama. “It’s my birthday. Why must you torment me?”

“Be patient, birthday girl.” The playful yet almost parental scold had them both grinning. Douglas restrained himself with a wagging finger, which only made it harder for Belle to not giggle.

She held his pointing hand, then stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

It felt a little wrong to leave Douglas all by himself in the bedroom. Still, Georgette was waiting in the den. She’d even lit some scented candles. The aroma soothed the senses, and soft classical music danced in the air. Belle followed Georgette’s instruction to lie on the massage bench, head cradled by a foamy pillow. Some tension sprinted up her back when the towel came undone, leaving her entire back and bottom bare. Georgette made brief small talk to help Belle settle in.

“When’s the last time you had a massage?” she asked as her hands, lathered with oil, started kneading the muscles around Belle’s shoulders.

Belle groaned within seconds. “Ages. Must have been six years ago. About a year before my marriage.”

“You’ve a sharp memory,” Georgette said. “But if that’s the only one you’ve had in so long, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Douglas rubs down my shoulders and back sometimes. Usually after . . . um . . .”

“That’s sweet of him.” She could hear Georgette smiling. “But it’s not the same as the professional touch.”

“That’s what he thought. That’s why he arranged all this.”

“Sweet and smart. You picked a good one, darling. If only one of my exes could’ve managed as much.”

Belle felt somewhat bashful. It wasn’t as though she’d tracked down the perfect husband like a seasoned hunter. It was all by chance. Well, that and a little daring. But it’d taken them so long that her good fortune balanced out the years of uncertainty.

Having grown up in the same town, she and Douglas had known of the other’s existence without a substantial interaction. It wasn’t until she was living in her own apartment and running the library that Belle had thought to approach the aloof Mr. Gold, whose shop stood right across the street. As for Douglas, he didn’t strongly identify the little girl with corduroy jumpers and a clutch of books, who passed his shop with her parents on their way to the ice cream parlor, as the librarian who visited one uneventful afternoon to consult him on an old book an anonymous donor had dropped off. The book was a first edition, a bit frayed but no doubt valuable. She was torn between keeping it as a library display or selling it to a collector or enthusiast.

The consultation turned into a couple hours of deliberation, debate, and a gradual discovery of each other’s literary tastes and attitudes. Mr. Gold offered to buy it from her. Belle still felt awkward selling something that had been given to the library instead of a bookseller for a profit. To help her decide, she explored Gold’s shop and studied his inventory. That ate up another hour of questions and answers. At the end of the day, Belle wondered if she’d annoyed Mr. Gold out of even wanting to take the book. Her worry was banished when, at the door while he closed up shop (she’d grown completely oblivious to the time), Gold offered to drive her home.

At that time, Douglas Gold wasn’t known as the warmest, friendliest person in town. Everyone eyed him like he was a tax collector or an iron-fisted lord of the manor who took malicious joy out of collecting their dues. Gold quite liked his reputation. Sure, it didn’t help win Neal friends, nor did his son often approve of his dour or snarky behavior toward most people. Neal had even dared to ask if his unwillingness to make friends had anything to do with Mom leaving. The boy had almost regretted asking the minute he did, but Douglas, while stung by the words, found himself more depressed than angered. Maybe that was why when Belle French crept into her store like a wary doe, he squashed the instinct to scare her off with a menacing glare or a quip about how the rent on her father’s shop was overdue. The fact that she’d come to him for advice helped keep a sense of normalcy. That slowly changed.

He liked talking to her, even when they didn’t agree on the ethical implications of selling a book that had been anonymously given to the library. Her questions about his merchandise were an excuse to tell stories about them, often with a touch of flair that lit up Belle’s eyes with interest. The offer to drive her home seemed to come from someone else, not from the Mr. Gold who kept himself closed off from everyone except his son. Yet he couldn’t regret it when she gave him a sunny smile. He’d come to cherish it every time she deigned to shine it in his direction.

Belle took the initiative to keep up a rapport with the reticent pawnbroker. She stopped by his shop a couple times a week to survey his wares, ask after him and Neal, or share a book she liked or thought he might like. On one of these early visits, she decided to give him the old first edition—no payment—so he could sell it to someone he deemed worthy. She could tell that he had a discerning eye when it came to his customers; he’d find the right owner for the book.

Gold kept the book out on a display for about a month. It was an agonizing month the longer it dragged on. He resisted admitting why until, after a tourist gave the book serious consideration before deciding not to buy it, Gold breathed with relief. He didn’t want to sell it. He didn’t want to lose the token of proof that someone had wanted to be nice to him, pay visits and let him ramble about his merchandise. Belle was still doing those things, but one day she wouldn’t. Surely she’d give up on him.

But Belle saw no reason to give up. He could be withdrawn about his personal life, but he opened up when talking about items he’d bought and collected over the years. After a while, he started talking about Neal, and once he started, he had trouble not talking about his boy. His blatant love and affection never failed to make Belle light up. She was delighted to finally meet Neal when the soft-eyed twelve-year-old came by the library after school one day, having learned that his father had made friends with the librarian.

Visits turned into lunches at the shop, the library, Granny’s diner. People’s amazement when Belle and Gold started spending time together in public was palpable. Ruby, Anna and Ariel only added to the mild hysteria with question after question about, well, why? How? Was it serious? Belle made sure to dismiss any notion that she and Gold were dating. Even if she was aware of a fondness bubbling in her heart that threatened to simmer into something more heated, Belle swatted away temptation to take things further. He didn’t seem interested. He had his son, and he was divorced. Maybe a friendship was the most he could handle, or the better cure for his fragile heart. Belle was fine with that. She just had to make sure her affection didn’t turn into a crush.

Little did she know that Douglas was telling himself the same thing. His rationale focused on how Belle was a young, beautiful, intelligent person who could do so much better than him. Friendship had been an unsettling change of pace. But the world was brighter when she walked and talked and ate with him.  Why should he jeopardize that by pursuing anything beyond friendship? As long as he knew he couldn’t be loved romantically, he wouldn’t let himself love another in that way. And so his friendship with Belle coasted along at a comfortable pace. Neither of them dropped nor picked up a hint that they might want something more.

Things might’ve remained that way a long time—maybe even forever—had she not talked him into joining her and some friends to a spa day.

Belle blinked to wake herself, just to be sure she could distinguish the past from the present. In the present, Georgette had moved down to the middle of her back, grinding out some knots she didn’t know she had. In the past, Belle and Ruby had been invited by Anna to share a “spa date” groupon at a salon in Rockland. They could each invite a plus one. Anna and Ruby settled on inviting their respective boyfriends. Since Belle was single, she’d thought of asking Mulan or Ariel. But then she considered Douglas, and once she did, the appeal of inviting him refused to fade. She managed to blurt out the offer without reddening from neck to scalp like a strawberry. She’d been prepared for a refusal, even as she dearly hoped he would accept. The moment Douglas stuttered, “Sure,” Belle wondered if she was dreaming.

Looking back now, she wanted to laugh at herself. Her hilarity came out in a snicker.

“Did I tickle you?” Georgette asked.

“Oh, no.” Belle giggled again. “I was just remembering that last spa day. I invited my husband with a group of friends.”

“Really?” Georgette spoke in that casual, listless tone that Belle understood to be professional detachment. It was like talking to a therapist. Belle’s mouth continued while her mind and the rest of her body melted into relaxation.

“He wasn’t my husband then. We weren’t even dating. But he agreed to go as my plus one.” Her chuckles came out stronger, sending vibrations down her body that almost clashed against Georgette’s ministrations. “I should’ve suggested that he get a massage today, too. I owe him that.”

Georgette spoke with more attentive gravity. “Seems as though he wanted to repay you for the invitation. Was that around the time you realized your _feelings_ for each other? Hmm?”

The suggestive tone made Belle grin, as did the memory. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Oh, my,” Georgette cooed.

It wasn’t as racy as that. But as she returned to the memory, Belle felt heat crawl up her core that had nothing to do with the massage. A day of massages, exfoliation, manicures and pedicures led to a shared sauna where the group of six—Ruby and Victor, Anna and Kristoff, and Belle and Douglas—sat around in their towels and chatted while occasionally adding water to the hot rocks for more steam. They jokingly competed to see who could stand the heat the longest; Belle and Douglas won out. Once the other, actual couples left (Ruby departed with a meaningful look at Belle), it was just them and the steamed-up room.

They’d gone from comfortable companionship to something awkwardly undefinable over the course of that day. Belle could feel the precipice of change. Instinct begged her to back away. Nothing _needed_ to change. But Belle imagined Douglas sitting here with someone else, someone he would feel more than friendship for. Her chest seized.

“Are you okay?” Douglas asked. “We should go if you’re not feeling well.”

“No, no, I’m fine! I just . . . I’m just glad you came, Douglas. And I hope you don’t find this, well, boring or—”

“Not at all! I admit spas aren’t my usual thing. This has been nice, though. I never would’ve tried it on my own.”

Belle gathered a breath of courage. “So, why did you come?”

When Douglas gave a perplexed look, adorable yet, in this instance, worrisome, she added, “I mean, I wondered if you came to humor me.”

A sappy smile spread across Douglas’ face, softening his age lines. “You know I like doing things with you, even new things. I like making you happy.”

Her heart hiccupped. She smiled before biting her lip. “I wouldn’t want you to do something you didn’t want simply because I asked you to.”

“But I knew you’d like me to come, since you asked.”

“Yes.” She took another big breath. “I did want you to come, more than anyone.”

His eyebrows jumped. “Really?”

The heat in the room oppressed her, but Belle appreciated it. She felt like an orange being pressed for juice. The heat helped wring out sweat and truth. It was a catharsis.

Douglas was sweating, too. His skin glistened under the sauna lights. Both his and hers. If she had touched his chest, her hand would’ve slipped as easily as Georgette’s hand slid across Belle’s back and legs right now. When she had considered the idea, so many things seemed possible that wouldn’t be once they stepped out of the sauna. It was time to say what she’d never had the bravery to say in the plain, clothed, real world.

“I know it sounds silly, like something out of a movie, to tell you this in here. But I figured: if you don’t like it, we can walk out pretending it never happened.”

She wanted to believe such a rationalization—she had to so she could get through this.

Douglas shivered with what might have been dread or excitement. “What is it?”

Belle looked down, then up meet his gaze. God willing, it wouldn’t be the last time she could without feeling like a fool. “You know I like you. As my friend.”

Douglas’s throat flexed as he swallowed. “Yes. As I do you.”

Her breath hitched. She was giddy just from that little confirmation. “I’ve liked having you as a friend. In fact, I more than like it. But I want—and please, _please_ remember that you don’t owe me anything. I just want you to know the truth.”

When his eyes squinted, then widened as he guessed the unspoken confession, Belle threw herself into beating him to the finish line. “And the truth is that I want you. I-I mean, I want you more than as a friend. I want . . . I want all of you.”

Her face was surely hot from more than the burning stones in the crate or the steam enveloping them. She refused to look away. She had to see, once and for all, how her friend—her best friend—felt about her.

At first, only astonishment captured Douglas. His dark eyes were those of a stunned animal. Panic started filling Belle’s stomach, but she held still, waiting for him to process what she’d said.

“Do—do you mean that?” he whispered after a painful vigil.

“Yes,” Belle said.

She felt so naked, more than if she’d dropped her towel like part of her wanted to the instant Douglas touched her face.

He cupped her cheek and chin, then slowly pulled her into a kiss. Practically speaking, Belle was glad that she hadn’t literally bared herself and jumped right to the physical part of their relationship (in other words, jumped _him_ ). It would’ve made matters a hundred times more mortifying when one of the spa employees came in without knocking. She’d been embarrassed enough making out with Douglas in a sauna that other people were waiting to use.

The memory didn’t stop Belle from fast-forwarding ahead to when she and Douglas did consummate their relationship, and the times they’d risked exposure by fooling around in the shop and library. She remembered how they grew bolder in the bedroom, before and after marriage. All that adventurous sex had fallen to the back burner once the twins were born, thanks to midnight feedings and the general responsibilities of parenthood. The more mundane and scarcer intimacies didn’t cool her love for him. It just left her a little hungry for it, like a past, beloved hobby.

“How are you feeling?” Georgette asked.

Belle pulled her eyelids apart and blinked to remember where she was. That’s right—the cabin. Getting a massage. Just finishing the massage, since she no longer felt Georgette’s hands. And God, had she needed that massage. But she was feeling a different ache.

“That was wonderful,” she mumbled. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this unwound.

“Your husband told me the sauna is ready whenever you are.”

The sauna—Belle smiled and carefully got up, pulling up her towel as she did. “I think I’m ready. Where is it?”

“He converted the bathroom for the purpose.”

That did sound like a practical way to create a sauna, rather than build a separate room or rent one of those single-person machines. Renting Georgette’s services for the day must’ve cost him plenty.

Belle thanked Georgette and strolled to the bathroom. As she did, Georgette started wiping down the bed pad Belle had been lying on. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said.

Thanking her again, Belle scampered down the hall like a kid at Christmas. Her fingertips tingled as she opened the bathroom door. A wave of steam hit her. The water in the shower was running and billowing with warm vapor through the open glass door. To her surprise, Douglas had included an extra expense. A cedar wood bench and frame had been built to fit around the claw-foot bathtub, designed to let people sit above a full tub of hot water. There was also a copious stack of soft towels, more than two people would ever need for two days.

A knock came from the slightly open door. Belle turned and found Douglas coming in wearing his own towel. He was carrying a picnic basket.

Bewildered and curious, she nodded at the basket. “A picnic in the sauna?”

“Not exactly.” He shut the door, then grabbed a rolled-up towel off one of the counters and laid it across the small gap between the door and the floor. Belle took a seat on the cedar bench. It wasn’t much different from the one she and Douglas sat on in the professional sauna several years ago.

“All right. How long do you plan to keep me in suspense?” She emphatically crossed her legs, not yet letting the towel fall open. She knew the value of patience and coyness.

“Well, first I want to know if your massage was to your complete satisfaction.”

“As a matter of fact, it was. But Georgette only massaged my back and legs. I’m afraid there might be one or two places that still need attention.”

Douglas chuckled in that deep, throaty way that went right through Belle’s core. “Perhaps I could help with that.”

“I do hope so.” She scooted away to invite him to sit beside her. “I might like to return the favor.”

He crawled onto the bench, reminding her of a panther closing in on his prey. God, she’d missed this. Her eyes danced down to his towel. Just seeing him half-naked fueled her need to run her hands all over him, and for him to do the same to her.

“You just might get your wish,” he said. “Maybe not in the way you expect.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing it now.” Belle cupped his neck, then let her hand slide down his chest. An excited flit of his eyes betrayed just how much he wanted this, too. But his hand snagged hers.

“It’s your birthday we’re celebrating. You should go first.”

“Do you mean, ‘You should _come_ first?’” Six years together, and she was giggling at her own horrible puns.

His laughter joined her giggles. He snuck his arms around her waist and encouraged her to sit in his lap. “Indeed I do.”

Belle obliged, if only because his hands had an uncanny talent for putting her under their pleasurable spell, even when he held her around the waist. It wasn’t long before those enchanting hands peeled off her towel, laid it over his legs, and began questing along her naked body. Belle leaned against his chest as she returned to a semi-relaxed, semi-aroused stupor. With every brush to her skin, she climbed to full arousal. This was the luxurious pace she missed. Every touch was careful and calculated. Sometimes he caressed her stomach, chest and thighs without directly stimulating her most sensitive areas. Then, without ceremony, he cupped and fondled her breasts, drew feathery circles around her nipples, or ran his fingers through her pubic hair or along the crease between her thighs and sex. He could’ve done that for hours and she would’ve loved it, wriggling and wet. Then he kissed her ear and neck, sometimes with small nips.

While partly involuntary, Belle directed her aroused writhing to her hips with shallow rolls against his groin. She could feel his breath getting heavier, just like hers. She hoped the stiffness between her buttocks was his erect member pushing through the towel.

The slow and steady buildup kicked into high gear when his fingers went for her vulva. They teased her pussy, drawing out plenty of liquid with which to stroke her clit. His other hand saved her from falling off his lap as she bucked and moaned for him. She risked pulling a muscle to nuzzle his cheek and neck. He didn’t just hear but felt her moans and gasps as she approached her peak. She did her best to stay balanced with her hands propping her on both sides, braced against the bench.

As her climax hit, she arched her back and grabbed the hand bringing her off, mouth gaping and eyes squeezed shut. A harsh groan and softer whimpers poured out as the pleasure sizzled down to her fingertips and toes. Her clit twitched and throbbed against Douglas’ strokes. As her orgasmic high dissipated, Belle turned around far enough to cuddle against her husband’s chest and her legs half-resting on the bench. She kissed his neck and collarbone, then dragged his head down for a long-awaited lip lock. She didn’t demur from grabbing his hair. Douglas moaned and held her as close as possible.

A few hot, wet, airless minutes later, Belle pulled her mouth free while still relishing Douglas’ taste. Her recollections about that bygone sauna day rushed in. She licked her lips before speaking her mind. “This makes me think of what I wanted to do when we first kissed.”

“You mean in the sauna?” Douglas asked, still catching his breath.

“Mm-hmm. Obviously it wouldn’t have been the right time to … do _this_. But I certainly fantasized about it.”

“Before or after our kiss?”

“A little of both.”

Douglas indulged in a half-smile, the one that showed he was pleased with himself. “Looks like I’m quite the mind-reader.”

“You actually arranged this based on the hope that I had a sauna fantasy?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you talk to Ruby?”

The self-satisfied smile faltered. He cleared his throat. “Maybe a little.”

Belle sat up, certainly shocked, but more that her husband had consulted one of her girlfriends rather than blindly guessed what his wife might like. “What exactly did you ask her?”

“Just if you mentioned any . . . particular fantasies. She had the same look you’ve got right now.”

“But she obliged,” Belle said with a raised eyebrow.

“She was discreet, love. She suggested I do something to remind you of our early dating days. When she brought up the first kiss, I told her ours was in the sauna on that spa trip.”

Belle groaned and shook her head. They’d managed to keep it a secret. But Ruby had probably suspected something when she saw the change between Belle and Douglas—the new open looks of sappy love. Maybe she’d suspected much worse than a kiss.

“Once I told her, she couldn’t stop coming up with sauna-based ideas.” Douglas grew more bashful, as though he was half-reliving that conversation in his mind. “And then—well, let me show you.”

Belle clambered off his lap so he could fetch the picnic basket. He set it next to Belle and, in a gentlemanly fashioned, opened the basket for her perusal.

She peeked inside. Her eyes doubled in size. Her hand went straight for a squeeze bottle labeled _Passion Licks, Cherry_. Between the two halves of the name, a cherry splashed in water before a plain white background. The other bottles and jars had similar styles. One jar contained “nipple balm;” one bottle had a desensitization spray for oral sex. Buried among the bottles was a strap-on harness and attachable dildo. Belle had been gawking and grinning, but the dildo launched her into an incredulous guffawing fit. Its texture and firmness were remarkably life-like, but dear God! It was painted glittery gold! It looked more like a trophy than a sex toy. A sex trophy.

“Hold on,” said Douglas, fishing through the basket. “There’s a matching vibrator.”

“Oh my God!” Belle cried when the golden, phallic vibrator was presented to her.

After much giggling, and snorts that kept them giggling, they had a brief, impromptu dildo-vibrator swordfight. When Belle won, she tapped Douglas’ nose with the vibrator. “Should we start with this?”

“Sure.” He reached to take the vibrator.

She snapped it away. “Ah, ah, ah. You already gave me an orgasm. It’s my turn.”

“But you can have more than one,” he pointed out, a little distressed.

“You can give me as many orgasms as you want after.”

“Fine.” He tossed out a dramatic eyeroll.

Belle snickered as she hopped down and crouched beside the basket. “I wonder how many wives have to insist giving their husbands orgasms.” She took out the strawberry lube and the jar of nipple balm.

“I imagine next to none when it’s _her birthday_.”

“Hush. Consider this part of my birthday present. Lie down.”

With a defeated sigh (not entirely remorseful), Douglas obeyed. Before doing so, however, he picked up a couple more towels from the pile Belle noticed earlier. In his shrewdness, he’d made sure they had enough for various purposes. For those towels he just picked, he spread them on the bench before reclining on his back.

“Don’t forget this one,” Belle said. Her hands latched onto the towel preserving his modesty before he could decide to undo it himself. She first slid her hands up his groin and pelvis before tugging the towel open. It did feel like opening a birthday present. Her present jumped up, half-stiff. Douglas hissed at the change in pressure and temperature and the hasty grip of his eager wife. Belle tempered her enthusiasm with a light grip on his cock, mostly to appreciate the heat and firmness.

After a few playful strokes, she switched to gliding her hands up and down his torso. They paused to pick up the vibrator, switch it on, and graze it along the same paths her hands had traveled. She paid attention to his nipples. When the dark buds hardened and Douglas moaned, she laid the vibrator against his neck and turned his head to the side so the toy’s tip could rest just under his ear. The sensation relaxed more than aroused Douglas, just as Belle hoped. It made it easier to catch him by surprise for the next step.

With Douglas distracted and sighing from the pleasant vibrations, she opened the jar of nipple balm, scooped up the gel on a single finger and dabbed it on Douglas’ nipples. In seconds, the gel tickled the skin on her fingertip. Douglas must have felt the same sensation, judging by his throaty groan. His chest heaved and his back arched. He tried to minimize movement so the vibrator wouldn’t roll away. Out of curiosity, Belle smeared a little of the balm on his earlobes, too.

“How’s that?” she asked.

Douglas chuckled. “Like you’re teasing both my ears with your tongue.”

Belle smiled. “Good.”

She gave his neck a break from the vibrator, but only so she could use it on the rest of his body.  There was no hurry; she sluggishly grazed it around his pecs and nipples. The latter made him gasp. The nipple balm was a marvelous invention. She let it work on its own while she moved the vibrator down his belly. It drew a line straight over his navel and the trail of hair that directed her back to his cock, which was nearly at full mast. Like with a paintbrush, Belle passed the vibrator along the inside of his thighs, then just shy of his balls. She cradled them so she could rub the vibrator’s tip up and down his taint, that special spot between his balls and anus where she could outwardly massage his prostate. His pelvis jumped at first contact. It never quite stopped moving even as Douglas struggled to hold steady enough for Belle to pleasure him. Her cupping his balls and giving them a loving squeeze certainly worked against his efforts.

“Want me to keep going back here?” she asked as the vibrator drifted toward to his anus, closer than before.

A ‘yes’ came out garbled with a groan.

“Hold on one sec.” Belle switched off the toy. Douglas moaned pleadingly, but he reined in desperation while Belle grabbed the bottle of cherry lube. She squirted enough to cover his puckered opening. That touch alone had him sighing and gripping the edge of the bench. His anus sufficiently greased, there was a little lube left over for Belle to smear on his thigh and lick up. The perfect blend, cherry and flesh.

His leg trembled. Belle met his hungry gaze. She kissed his thigh a few more times before bringing the vibrator to his ass and flicking it on. She started along the inside of his cheeks, just to prepare him. Douglas’s head thunked on the bench. The groan that followed was more of pleasure than pain. Belle wasted no more time. She had to make sure that _all_ he felt was pleasure.

After uncounted minutes of rimming, which made his cock twitch and pulse at full length (she couldn’t resist grazing a finger along his shaft and lapping at the tip and underside), Belle dared to place steady pressure against his hole so that, bit by bit, the vibrator slid in. Only about an inch to start, enough to make Douglas whine with pleasure and a smidgen of discomfort. She pulled out, rimmed him some more, than pushed. Always slow, always mindful of her husband’s limits.

The fifth time she tried it, she got it two inches in. She paused. Douglas raised his head. “It’s okay. Push it a little farther.”

By now Belle was stroking his belly, partly so her weight on his pelvis would keep him still, partly so she could feel when he tensed in resistance. At his words, she looked at him with an adoring smile. Then she kissed his stomach and followed his request. Once it was between three and four inches in, she let the vibrator sit and do its work.

Her other hand never stopped moving. She caressed him everywhere she could reach: legs, stomach, chest, arms. At one point, Douglas caught her hand and rubbed his thumbs against and between her fingers while the rest of him lay as still as possible. Belle nuzzled his stomach. The steam engulfing the room, the steady white noise of the shower’s running water, all created a dreamy ambiance. Both their bodies were drenched. His skin was hot and slick against her face and she loved it. She loved seeing his cock arch in need, too. There was a dribble of precum. Belle licked up the fluid. Her mouth closed around just the head of his cock and sucked while her hand kept the vibrator in place.

“Oh, Belle,” Douglas whispered. He’d let go of her other hand. Now he could pet the curls that had fallen out of her bun. “I’m not gonna last if you do that.”

Belle sucked a little longer before pulling up. A string of saliva lingered between her mouth and his cock. “I want you on edge for what comes next.”

His open smile showed off his beautifully crooked teeth. He was more than ready for it.

Belle grinned right back. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you?”

“Very much. You, too?”

“Of course. But the fact that we don’t do it so much makes it all the more special, right?”

“Right.” Douglas couldn’t have objected if he’d wanted to. He’d have agreed to anything with that breathless one-word answer as his wife sprinkled kisses on his cock and held a vibrator inside his ass.

Belle withdrew the vibrator and set it down in exchange for the strap-on harness and dildo. “Help me put this on?”

His cock lurched. Both of them felt the eroticism of him assisting with the harness. They pulled it up her legs like a thong. His strong hands were so caring as he closed the snap buttons. When he finished, he cupped her buttocks and massaged them. Touching her there always made her moan and tremble. He seized the chance to steal kisses on her stomach, all the way down to where the harness covered her sex. The dildo and harness were designed to rub against Belle’s clit when the dildo moved, so she could practically feel the fake cock tapping Douglas’s cheek. He even started caressing it while looking at her with that all-too-knowing smirk. The golden paint on the otherwise realistically proportioned and detailed cock continued to look ridiculous. She adored it.

“How about some lube?” she said.

Douglas didn’t need to be asked twice. He picked up the bottle, squeezed out a generous cherry-smelling glop and rubbed down the dildo with purposeful strokes. He left her wonderfully aching. Having a cock for her partner to caress was rather empowering, she had to admit. No surprise that men could be so obsessed with them. At the same time, though, there was a sweet vulnerability in almost literally putting oneself in someone else’s hands.

Maybe he read her thought in her lip-bite or her rocking hips that matched his rhythm. In a move that made Belle gasp in alarm and excitement, Douglas slid his mouth over the dildo’s head and sucked it while still stroking the rest of the shaft. She couldn’t feel his mouth, but she sure as hell could see it and hear it, and that alone was unbelievably sexy. She watched his tongue flutter against the tip, just like she did for him, and she heard him moan as he swallowed as much as possible without gagging. Sometimes he looked at her; sometimes he closed his eyes, delighting in both the flavor and the sensation of pleasure his wife. She urged him on with unrestrained moans and hands tangled in his hair. It was hard to say which aroused her more: the sensation of his movements against her clit, or the sight of his drooling mouth and his rigid cock dewing with precum.

The minutes felt blissfully endless, but in time he had to rest his mouth. The dildo was wet with saliva and what little lube he hadn’t swallowed. Belle added more lube while telling Douglas to lie down again. He parted his legs. She followed him onto the bench. Rather than get right to it, she lounged on top of him. The dildo nuzzled his cock.

“Is this okay?” She combed back his dampening hair.

“Better than okay,” he said.

She couldn’t help doubting that his head was in the most comfortable position. Her eyes jumped up to the towels still rolled up within reach. “Hang on.” She grabbed one in a swift lunge, unrolled it and folded it, then motioned for Douglas to lift his head long enough for her to slip the towel underneath. “There,” she declared. “That looks better.”

“Remind me whose birthday we’re supposed to be celebrating.” The scolding lost its potency as he drew a line down the middle of Belle’s chest as she leaned over him.

“I’ll not have my extended birthday celebration ruined by my husband unnecessarily banging his head on this brilliant piece of carpentry.”

“I commissioned Marco for it. Per August’s suggestion, if I’m honest.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t expensive.”

“Ask me that after you’ve fucked me properly, my dearest wife.”

Belle huffed. “You’re incorrigible.” She pinned him with a demanding kiss. Douglas gladly obliged, now with the relative comfort of a towel-pillow. This was the part where Belle consumed him like a lion taking her fallen prey. After the deep kiss, she continued with his face, his ears, his neck, and onward, every suck and nip claiming him. He loved when she used toys on him, but this was the best. He just as eagerly wanted to flip her over and equally ravish her. But she made him feel so loved, so desirable as he hadn’t felt for years before their marriage, or their dates for that matter. That she had made the first move in that other sauna still astonished him. He’d been too afraid, too certain that she’d never want him that way. Every kiss, every act of lust and affection and devotion proved him wrong, and he never wanted to shirk an opportunity to experience those acts at her hands for as long as they lived.

As she kissed down his body, Belle grew more aware of the taste of his sweat, heightening his flavor, and in her mind she found herself back in the moment of their first kiss. She’d semi-planned her confession, but it had been mostly the impulse of the moment, the reckless plunge that changed everything. Yet not _everything_ had changed. Sure, they’d started dating, and before long they began having sex, but their lunch and dinner dates weren’t so different from their usual meals together as friends. She’d feared losing that comfortable closeness. She’d feared rushing things in the same instant she’d first kissed him and wanted to do what she did now as his wife.

Her throat tightened and her eyes stung. The swell of gratitude overwhelmed her. She had to pause to let it crest and crash like an ocean surf. But in its wake she had an urge to speak. She stopped shy of his navel and sat up.

Douglas sensed the abrupt stop. He propped himself on his elbows. “Is something wrong?”

Belle cleared her throat with the hope that a croak or a sob wouldn’t come out. “No. Not at all. In fact, I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I do.” Her breath hitched, making her voice a little squeaky. She brokenly laughed at herself. Douglas’ worried expression prompted her to press on his chest so he lay down. Then she flattened both hands on his stomach and rubbed in crisscrossing circles. “I want to thank you for not flying into a panic when I first told you how I felt about you. I want to thank you for letting me into your life, first as your friend, then your lover. And then your wife and the mother of your children. Even Neal.”

His hands searched for hers. He didn’t stop her, merely slowed her so his hands could ride on hers. “I’m the one who should thank you. My life is better for having you in it.”

“As is mine.” And now she had to sniff and swallow or else they’d never get finished. He’d spend the next couple of hours cuddling and making love to her while she cried about how much she loved him—that could come later, but not now. So she smiled widely. “You’re still my best friend, you know.”

Douglas, a little misty-eyed himself, squeezed her hands. “Friends and lovers, right?”

There was no helping it—she had to kiss him again, good and hard. And so she did, then breathily answered, “Always.”

They were again in alignment so that, as they kissed and held each other, Douglas could start grinding his cock against her dildo. Belle chuckled and moaned, enjoying the renewed buildup. When they were both panting and ready, she got up and used two more towels to get his pelvis into position. Thanks to the humidity, the lubed dildo was still slippery. She eased it into his ass at a measured pace with slow gyrations, plunges and retreats. By the time she was in deep and he was sufficiently relaxed, they were even more breathless from the effort, but the intimacy made them shudder in the best way. Belle set an unhurried rhythm. She was all but on top of him. Douglas lifted his legs and barely rested his knees on her hips. His weak right ankle made a cushion of her buttock to relieve any strain from the pose. With her above him, he groped her breasts, the perfect size for his palms. Every thrust on her end pushed them into his grasp. The hardened tips rubbed against the calloused skin. The sensation stripped down Belle’s inhibitions. She gasped, whined, grunted. Her lunges quickened. He accepted them with his own needy grunts and hard pinches to her nipples. They were a machine of perpetual and escalating pleasure. Even with the harness, her gushing arousal spilled down her thighs. It didn’t distract her from adjusting the angle of entry on each thrust until she found the one that made Douglas cry out and buck involuntarily.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” Belle asked after thrusting several times at the same angle.

“Yes! Fuck yes, please. Please, Belle!”

His engorged, deeply flushed cock bounced against her belly.

“You know what you have to say,” she whispered with a practiced, tried-and-true husky rasp.

“I’m yours, Belle,” he whimpered in a reedy tone. “I’m always and forever yours.”

“ _Again_.” She snapped her hips.

“Ah! _Yours._ I’m, _ah_ , I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!”

With supportive help from his hands still on her breasts, Belle relied on one hand to hold her up while the other snaked down Douglas’ belly and wrapped around his cock. She didn’t even stroke it. Just a single, meaningful squeeze. “ _Mine_ ,” she growled. “My friend and my lover. _Always mine._ ”

When she let go, so did he. His come spurted as he let a full howl tear loose. Its splashed on their stomachs. Another thrust and the tingle of his fluids on her skin made her pussy clench, woefully empty, while her clit twitched in joy. She bucked and writhed in the rush of climax while he pulled her down close enough to catch one of her nipples in his mouth. Her mind all but melted from the unexpectedly long release.

At first, he let her lie on him with her shoulder against his mouth. He had enough room to kiss up her neck. Soon, however, they rolled over so she was between him and the bathroom wall. The towels under them were twisted and askew. Belle pulled the dildo out with surprising ease, then unsnapped the harness and tossed the entire contraption toward the running shower. It hit the wall a few inches shy of the target. Wife and husband laughed.

“I hope you liked your present,” Douglas said, half-reprimanding for the treatment of the dildo.

“I love it. I just don’t want anything between us right now.” To make her point, Belle cinched her leg over his hip. Arms locked around torsos.

Douglas rubbed his hands all over her back. “I also hope we didn’t undo all the good of your massage.”

“Well, if I start to feel a little tense, will you do the honors of loosening me up?”

“I could always ask Georgette to—”

“ _Douglas_.”

With an impish snicker, he kissed her nose. “All right. I’ll do my level best.”

“And what about your massage?”

Another snicker. “I believe I already got it.”

Belle pulled a puzzled frown that lasted all of five seconds. That was how long he was willing to hold in another snort, which broke free the moment Belle’s eyes rounded, then rolled up in exasperation.

“That is _not_ a viable substitute,” she said.

“Best massage I ever got.” Douglas kissed her forehead this time. Belle made sure his next kiss was on her lips. He made sure the next one aimed lower, as well as the one after that, and the one after that.

As Belle rolled on her back and let him douse her with kisses on her neck and breasts, she massaged his scalp and mused on how she was going to give her husband a real massage sometime this weekend. Maybe after Georgette was finished with the rest of the spa treatment. Or maybe they could make use of that massage chair tonight and not tell Georgette. Belle also wondered for a few seconds, before Douglas’ fingers dipped between her wet folds, just how much hot water they were going to use up. Too much, she decided as his teeth captured her right nipple and his finger slid inside her. But so worth the price.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my first RSS gift that actually managed to have smut. Hurrah! Hope you enjoyed it.


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